


Tell Me I'll Be Okay

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [49]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Angst, Angst and Feels, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Derek Hale, Sad Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Tumblr Prompt, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: “I’m not trying to get myself killed.”“I know.”“I don’t want to die, Derek.”The man’s hold tightened, even though there were no more black lines creeping up his arm. Derek never drew away. He’d never drawn away, Stiles noticed. Not once. Not months ago. Not now.“I know, Stiles.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [49]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889
Comments: 28
Kudos: 438





	Tell Me I'll Be Okay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maia_Nebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maia_Nebula/gifts).



Stiles felt it like a coming storm.

He thought that was totally cliche and a little ridiculous, but it was also the only thing he could compare it to. ‘It’ being the weight that slowly gathered on his shoulders, that is. The laughter that started to fade from his lungs and the exhaustion that hit him one day and refused to leave.

Stiles felt it like a coming storm and he was pretty sure before it left, he’d be experiencing a hurricane.

He wasn’t so sure the rest of the pack noticed. Maybe. Maybe a little.

When Stiles found himself going over to the loft, it was more of a chore than anything. He still smirked at Isaac, still shot Jackson lizard comments, and still did everything he could to get under Peter’s skin. But he didn’t feel like putting in the effort he usually would.

Jackson called him Stiles ‘Spastic’ Stilinski and Stiles couldn’t come up with a good comeback. Isaac went through three different kinds of scarves in one day and Stiles just rolled his eyes and focused on the TV. Peter made some snide comment that Stiles couldn’t even recall and he just flipped the man the bird.

Stiles was… well, he was tired. But it was more than that. The monster of the week had failed to come for nearly two months now and he couldn’t help hating that. He needed to do something, needed to throw himself into something.

He needed to feel like his presence around the rest of the pack was worthwhile again.

Stiles didn’t know what it was, exactly. But he was tired. The pack was at peace. And everything should’ve been just fine.

On the fourth week of summer vacation, Stiles buried himself in his blankets and decided to sleep until the next school year came. But he didn’t get that chance when Derek suddenly shoved his window open and pulled himself into the room.

Stiles simply blinked at him. 

Derek blinked back.

Then, with a groan, Stiles turned away and buried himself back into his covers. He could feel Derek staring for a moment longer before the man slowly approached, stepping closer and all but towering over the bed. Stiles shoved his face into his pillow and wondered what the world had against him.

“What, Sourwolf?”

“Are you sick?”

Stiles slowly turned and glared at him. Derek raised a brow, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, and Stiles sighed. “No. Now go away.”

“Are you dying?”

“Seriously, dude, that’s your next go-to?”

“You smell wrong.”

Stiles blinked at him. His stomach plunged a little and he realized he felt sick, but not the normal kind. Swallowing hard, he tugged the covers further up to his neck and shrugged. “I haven’t showered in a few days. Don’t judge a guy for being a little stinky.”

“No, you don’t smell bad,” Derek said, eyes tinged a little red. “You smell wrong.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Is that all?”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. He could’ve sworn the man’s face turned red and Derek burrowed deeper into his leather jacket, eyes flitting down to the floor.

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Should I be saying something else, Sourwolf?”

“You usually do.”

Stiles stared at him. Did he? Stiles supposed he usually would’ve come up with some sarcastic or witty comment that either made Derek really mad or really flustered. He usually took joy in watching Derek’s ears turn bright red. But right now, his mind was blank. “Sorry.”

Derek’s eyes snapped back up. “What?”

“... Sorry? I didn’t realize my silence would be so bothersome for you.”

“You are sick.”

Stiles stared at him for a moment longer before groaning and turning on his side, yanking the covers all the way up over his head. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. He didn’t have the energy.

After a couple minutes, it was painfully obvious that Derek was not planning to move.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Stiles mumbled into his pillow. “Unless it’s a shower. And in that case, you can leave cause I don’t feel like it.”

“So you’re dying, then.”

Stiles didn’t know what the hell was going on in Derek’s head.

The longer he ignored the man, he more agitated he could feel Derek getting. The man finally growled and turned back away from Stiles’s bed, stalking toward the window. With one last red-eyed glare, he pulled himself out and was gone.

Stiles thought he should feel relieved about that. Or maybe guilty. But he just… felt. He just felt.

He didn’t sleep well that night.

\- -

Derek started acting strange.

Stiles might be a little out of his head, but he realized that easy enough. Because the man started showing up more often. Even when Stiles flat out ignored him or offered non-impressive insults until he had completely tired himself and his imagination out. 

Derek would come by and just… sit. He’d just sit. Sometimes he brought a book, sometimes he brought his laptop, but he would just sit. In Stiles’s room. While Stiles was attempting to not acknowledge the rest of the world.

He’d thought Derek would stop eventually. But on week two, Stiles propped himself up and glared at the man. “What the hell are you doing?”

Derek looked up from his book, raising one eyebrow. He didn’t answer or offer and explanation which made Stiles feel more emotions than he had in days. The man just blinked. Innocently. Like he was doing nothing wrong.

Stiles knew better.

“What the hell,” he said again. “Are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Oh, don’t give me that, Sourwolf. You’re here all the time. You’re here more than you are at the loft! My dad’s going to start thinking you’re married to me or something.”

Derek crooked up a brow. Stiles felt his face turn hot.

“Not that that’s a thing. Because that’s not a thing. Which means you shouldn’t be here! I’m trying to enjoy my summer, Sourwolf, and you’re impeding on that.”

“You’re sleeping your summer away,” Derek corrected. Stiles glared at him.

“I am not.”

“And you haven’t showered in a week.”

“Showering takes a lot of effort, asshole!”

Derek looked at him for a long moment. Then he closed his book, set it off to the side, and stood. Stiles didn’t expect the man to approach him, nor for the man to rip off his covers and pick Stiles up bridal style, turning toward the bathroom.

Stiles squawked and wiggled in his arms, slapping at Derek’s chest. The man acted like he was nothing more than a feather.

“Derek, Derek, dammit, put me down!”

“Take a shower,” Derek said, lowering him onto the bathroom floor. Stiles glared up at him and the man shifted a little, looking uncomfortable. “Or a bath, I don’t care. But you stink.”

“Get out of my house.”

“Once you take a shower, I will.”

“Showers are hard,” Stiles whined, shifting on the cold floor and wrapping his arms around his knees. “I don’t want to.”

Derek rolled his eyes and reached over Stiles’s head, turning on the water. He kept his fingers underneath it for a moment and then turned back toward Stiles, nodding toward the bath. “Go, Stiles.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, pulling himself to his feet. He glared at the man before pointedly tugging at his shirt. “Do you want to stay and watch the strip show too? Because I’m pretty sure I dropped a cheeto down my pants four days ago and I reserve no judgment for when it comes falling out.”

Derek only turned away, face a little red, and closed the door as he exited the bathroom. Stiles glared after him for a moment.

He half debated chilling on the toilet for half an hour and then coming back out unshowered just to spite the werewolf, but then he decided that was dumb. He was here and the water was already on, so Stiles supposed he might as well just get it over with.

He might’ve forgotten what it was like to be clean.

Stiles turned his face toward the water and closed his eyes, finding himself starting to enjoy the warm spray. He didn’t remember washing his hair but at some point, he didn’t smell like an old sock anymore, so he supposed that was something. But then Stiles blinked to the side and realized he was going to have to get _out_ of the water eventually.

Suddenly that all seemed very daunting.

It was ridiculous, he thought. Stiles was pretty sure he shouldn’t be dreading average tasks like this. But instead of turning off the water and pulling himself out of the warmth to face the outside world, Stiles found himself sliding to the shower floor and just sitting there.

He was trembling a little, though he didn’t know why. Stiles just turned himself away from the closed door and let the water beat over his head.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

Only that it was a loud crack that woke him up and Stiles startled so hard, he forgot he was sleeping on the wet shower floor. Derek stood in the doorway, quickly averting his eyes, and Stiles yelped, curling into himself.

“Derek! What the hell?”

“You’ve been in here for an hour,” Derek said, reaching blindly for a towel and then moving cautiously forward. “Dammit, Stiles, what are you doing?”

Stiles blinked at him. Then he glanced down at himself and frowned. He was trembling violently now, he noticed. The water was coming down ice cold and goosebumps raced up his arms. Stiles clenched his jaw and shook his head, wondering what the hell he _was_ doing.

Derek turned off the water and, face still turned away, handed Stiles the towel. Stiles took it silently, wrapping it around himself and huddling into the warmth. Only then did Derek glance over.

“Stiles,” he said softly. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Stiles wasn’t sure he had a good answer for that. So he just pushed himself up and trudged back out of the bathroom, noting the cracked doorframe. He hadn’t remembered locking the door but apparently he had.

Privacy from grumpy Alpha werewolves was impossible these days.

Stiles didn’t glance back as he changed behind his towel. By the time he was back in sweatpants and t-shirt, Derek was still there. Stiles sighed, turning back toward the man.

“Well, I took a shower. Now you may exit my house.”

“You need to eat.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, staring at him. “Why do you even care?”

“You’re pack.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, dropping onto his bed. “I’m also skinny, spastic Stiles Stilinski. Dude, you don’t have to be here. Go be all ‘you’re pack’ to the rest of the betas. They exist too, you know.”

Derek didn’t even look guilty at Stiles’s implications. He just picked a bowl off of Stiles’s desk and it took Stiles a moment to realize the werewolf had been poking around his kitchen. Derek moved over to set what looked like soup on Stiles’s bedside table and then stepped back, crossing his arms.

“Eat.”

“Go away.”

“ _Stiles._ ”

Stiles glowered at him. When he picked up the bowl, he jabbed the spoon into the soup as threateningly as he could, but he thought that was kind of rendered moot by the fact Derek didn’t seem to notice. Or care. The man’s eyes were just fixed on Stiles and the action of him actually following orders for once.

Stiles didn’t realize how hungry he actually was. He tried not to dwell on that fact.

By the time he was done, Derek had returned to his spot at Stiles’s desk and his book, and Stiles set the bowl down loudly on the bedside table. Derek startled, glancing back.

“Done,” Stiles said. “Goodbye.”

Derek looked a little sad and a little hurt. Stiles wrapped himself in blankets and tried to ignore that fact.

But, true to his earlier words, the man started toward the window. He glanced back one more time before pulling himself out and Stiles actually hoped he’d say something. Or maybe make up another excuse to stay.

But then Derek was gone. Stiles looked quietly at the window before his gaze flitted back to the desk. Derek had left his book, he realized.

Stiles blinked at it. Then he rolled over, away from the open window and away from Derek’s stupid book.

He slept a little better than usual that night.

\- -

Stiles didn’t remember the last time he’d been grateful for a new Beacon Hills threat. But the town was being terrorized by a rogue wendigo and Stiles had never been so glad to throw himself back into something. He felt like he had more energy than ever as he helped the pack track down the wendigo, make a plan to detain it, and then actually go after the feral thing.

But then Derek took him by the shoulder and pull him away from the others. 

“I want you to stay back,” Derek said, and there was no way they were far enough from the rest of the pack to avoid them hearing anything. “When we trap the wendigo, I want you to stay back. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Anger bubbled up in Stiles’s throat. He glared. “Just me?”

“Just you.”

“Dammit, Derek!” Stiles said, yanking away. “You don’t have the right to order me around like that!”

“I’m your Alpha,” Derek said, eyes glowing red. “I have every right.”

“Yeah, well you can shove being my Alpha right up your ass!”

Someone laughed from a few feet away— Stiles was pretty sure it was Erica. Derek’s eyes flickered brighter and Stiles yanked away from the man’s hand on his shoulder, gripping his baseball bat tighter. “Stiles—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Derek.”

Stiles stalked back toward the others and ignored Jackson’s smug look. It had been a while since Derek tried to put him on the sidelines but that was the last thing Stiles wanted to deal with right now. 

Derek didn’t say anything else as he moved over too. Instead, he went over the plan one more time, gave Stiles a final look, and then moved away.

Things went downhill from there.

Stiles was pretty sure it was because none of them had actually realized that the wendigo might go feral instead of backing down. But one moment things were going to plan and the next, Stiles was watching Jackson getting thrown into the nearest tree and glowing yellow eyes were turning to where he stood.

He was pretty sure he heard Derek yelling at him to run. But Stiles took one look at the wendigo, another at his baseball bat, and made a decision.

He’d made better ones before.

He came back to consciousness when he was in a hospital gown, the top opened up and a long line of stitches crossing his chest. Stiles blinked at them a few times before glancing around, trying to remember what he could.

He knew he’d misjudged his swing. He remembered feeling a sudden pain, remembered Derek’s howl in the air, and then the sound of a feral roar being cut off.

Stiles groaned. _Dammit._

The door to his room opened and Derek was there; just staring. For a moment, they looked at each other and then Derek moved forward, quietly closing the door behind him. Stiles wet his lips and fiddled with his hospital gown.

“Where’s my dad?”

“He was here when we brought you in,” Derek said. “And all through the stitches. They had to put you under a lot of anesthetics.”

Stiles blinked at him. Derek sunk into the chair at his side.

“You’ve been here for a little over a day. Your dad was called back to the station a couple of hours ago, but I told him I’d keep an eye on you.”

Stiles scoffed, turning away. “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Stiles?”

The question wasn’t angry or harsh. Derek sounded genuinely hurt and confused, a hand reaching out to lay across Stiles’s arm. But Stiles tugged away and glanced over at the opposite wall. “Nothing.”

“Stiles—”

“Nothing, Derek.”

The man was quiet for a moment. Then, “You could have died.”

“Any of us could have died.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek said, and his voice cracked a little. “You could have died. Going after that thing was one of the stupidest decisions you’ve ever made and I don’t think you would have made it a few months ago.”

Stiles turned back to glare at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you knew.”

“Knew what, Derek.”

“You knew it was a bad idea,” Derek said, searching his face. “Stiles, you knew that was a bad idea. There’s no way you couldn’t have.”

Once more, Stiles turned his face away. But this time, Derek didn’t back down.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Stiles’s stomach flipped. He clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth gnashed, and he didn’t answer. Because of course, he wasn’t. He’d just made a mistake. It had been a calculated risk, hadn’t it? Stiles could’ve been the one to take the wendigo out. He was just doing his part to help.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly. “Stiles, please talk to me.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Derek.”

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong!”

Stiles finally turned toward the man and glared. He struggled to sit up more, wrapping an arm around his stomach. Derek’s eyes widened and the man tensed, but when Stiles snarled at him, he went still. 

Derek looked at him like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and the man was begging him not to jump. Stiles hated it.

“I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, Derek! I don’t know what you want me to say!”

Derek’s eyes flashed red but he didn’t say a word. Stiles looked sharply away, trying to swallow down the lump rising in his throat.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Derek,” he murmured. “There’s something wrong in my head. I’m just so tired.”

Derek was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached over and caught Stiles’s hand, fingers threading through his own. Stiles tried to swallow the knot in his throat but he still gasped lightly as he felt Derek pull some of the pain from his injury. 

Because right now, that was really all the man could do. Stiles’s eyes burned a little and he determinedly didn’t look in Derek’s direction. Until the man rubbed a thumb over the back of his hand and sighed.

“There’s nothing off in your head, Stiles,” he said. “I promise.”

“I’m not trying to get myself killed.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to die, Derek.”

The man’s hold tightened, even though there were no more black lines creeping up his arm. Derek never drew away. He’d never drawn away, Stiles noticed. Not once.

Not months ago. Not now.

“I know, Stiles.”

Stiles turned to face him, burying his face in the man’s shoulder as he held him tighter. Stiles didn’t know exactly what he needed, but right now maybe this was enough. This was… something. This was a step forward instead of standing still.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” Derek said. “I promise.”

“And if something were?”

“I’d be here.”

“And if it’s not, but it doesn’t go away?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, pulling back and brushing a thumb over his cheek. “I’m here.”

Stiles swallowed hard. Because Derek was., he always had been. For months now.

“I know,” Stiles whispered. “I know.”

And he did.

\- -

Stiles felt it like a coming storm.

He thought that was totally cliche and a little ridiculous, but it was also the only thing he could compare it to. ‘It’ being the weight that lowered itself further and further onto his shoulders, that is. Like grins he didn’t completely feel and exhaustion behind his eyes that he couldn’t just sleep away.

Stiles felt it like a coming storm and he was pretty sure that as things went on, he was experiencing a hurricane. 

But he never really faced it alone.

There was a man that always came through his window, even when Stiles had just been at the loft hours earlier. He’d bring a book, he’d sit in the corner, and he’d just be there. Even if Stiles flat out ignored him for hours at a time.

There was a man that made canned soup, lugged Stiles into hot showers, and made sure that he didn’t get himself killed when the monster of the week decided to show up.

There was a man that promised he’d come, promised he’d stay, and never once left Stiles’s side. Even when Stiles felt weary,

Weary, he decided, was it. He was weary, sometimes, and it took more than a few smiles or a few naps to make it go away. Through the normal, the supernatural, and everything in between, Stiles found it so easy to be weary. But Derek was somehow always there. 

He was always there through the storm.

There was always a book left on Stiles’s desk for when Derek came back.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt of "emotionally hurt!Stiles and protective!Derek" and the feels got away from me. Of course, I'd love to hear what you guys thought!
> 
> Come hang with me on Tumblr?
> 
> [the dumpster](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


End file.
